


Privacy

by plumtrees



Series: Plum's Parting Porn-A-Thon [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Future Fic, House Party, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Partner Swapping, Riding, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 10:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11987991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumtrees/pseuds/plumtrees
Summary: Iwaizumi reaches for the knob by his hip, easily twisting it open and getting them both inside. They stumble in with their lips still sealed over each other’s, silent giggles passing between mouths as Oikawa hurries to flatten his hand against the door to shut it and crowd Iwaizumi against the surface, other hand winding around his waist to pull him close, keep him there—But then an alarmed noise rips from Iwaizumi’s throat, the hand steady on his shoulder suddenly pushing him away Iwaizumi’s looking behind him, expression a mix of shock and mild horror and Oikawa follows a split second later, just in time for a moan to resonate past the muffled music being carried over from downstairs.“Oikawa.” Ushijima greets, only the slightest tremor to his voice as Shirabu sinks down on his cock. “Tendou didn’t mention you’d be here.”





	Privacy

**Author's Note:**

> this is it. my last HQ fic. it's been great y'all
> 
> Prompt was OiIwa and UshiShira: “Oikawa and Iwaizumi at a frat party about to have sex in one of the bedrooms only to walk in on Ushijima fucking Shirabu. What happens next? ;)”

Oikawa isn’t really sure how it happened, but somehow, somewhere, between stepping into this frathouse and now, Iwaizumi Hajime—his best friend for fifteen years and unrequited crush for four—plopped onto his lap and kissed him soft on the mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This is not at all how he imagined their first kiss, and he’d imagined it plenty. He tastes like tequila and lemon, like rum and cola, like the thousand things Oikawa has always wanted to say but never had the courage to, and before he even knows it, he’s kissing him right back.

He breathes only when his lungs begin to ache, the breath taking with it the smell of Iwaizumi’s cologne. He smells the salt-bitter of sweat and musk, the sweet-freshness of honey and summer fruit, and Oikawa has to struggle to tamp down the guilt-ridden memory of sniffing Iwaizumi’s pillow, hand shoved in his shorts, jerking away while his best friend is in the shower. He smells so good. He’s always smelled so good, and there’s nothing quite like drinking it right in from the source.

He slides his hands all the way up his thighs, thumbing the denim and feeling for all the rips and tears, sinking his nails into the skin bulging out. He remembers his jaw dropping at the sight of Iwaizumi walking out of his dorm with those pants, the scraggly cut-outs exposing snippets of the year-old dragon tattoo taking up most of his right leg.

Iwaizumi moans in his mouth, the sound penetrating past the music echoing in his ears. His body arches against his, as if he can get any closer, as if he can burrow right under Oikawa’s skin and stay there, and god he’s so needy like this, practically humping his thighs and wrapping his strong arms around Oikawa’s neck, pulling him in as he opens his mouth, presses his tongue against the seam of his lips. Oikawa complies, sucks him in and scrapes his teeth over the muscle, cupping Iwaizumi behind the head and angling him so that their lips seal tight together, tongues dancing in the combined heat of their mouths.

There’s noise and motion everywhere, the surroundings alive with the pulse of a college party, people brushing up against them left and right. Somewhere, he hears the unholy screech that Tendou passes off as laughter, the click and whirr of a phone camera. Oikawa can’t even bring himself to care, to bask in the attention and atmosphere like he usually would. Iwaizumi is warm and willing on his lap, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. The world can go fuck itself for all he cares.

Iwaizumi separates from him with a gasp, lips gleaming and plump, the red of temptation and blood. 

“Bedrooms are upstairs you kinky bastards!” 

He can’t even find it in himself to curse Tendou’s interruption, not when Iwaizumi’s gracing him with the evilest of grins. In the next second, he’s on his feet, tugging Oikawa up with him through their entwined fingers. Someone hoots at them as they walk past, but it’s all lost on Oikawa. He’s still in a daze. Still not quite sure any of this is real, staring at Iwaizumi’s muscled back as he leads them up the polished stairs, dodging people as they go.

The music is loud. Way too loud. He’s finding it a little hard to tell if the dull throb in the cage of his ribs is his own manic heartbeat or the bass pulsing like crazy through the whole first floor, but Iwaizumi drags them past the sweaty bump and grind, the haze of weed and nicotine, through hallways and stairways and suddenly he can hear himself think again, the music trailing behind them like a fading memory and the only thing in Oikawa’s brain is _nononobadideaBADIDEA—_

“Wait.” he gasps, but he can’t even hear his own voice past the ringing in his ears. “Wait wait wait, _Iwa-chan_ —”

It takes a good shove against the wall for Iwaizumi to stop. Oikawa’s two hands flat against the gritty wallpaper while his body cages Iwaizumi in tight. Iwaizumi’s breath comes in steady, heated puffs against his skin, his hand somehow up on his breastbone, flirting with a button. He’s looking at him like he wants to kiss him again, and it takes all of Oikawa’s meager self-control to press down on his shoulders, shaking him a little in urgency.

“Are you,” he licks his lips, keeps his voice firm. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” Iwaizumi breathes. His smile is a little crazed, but his eyes are bright. Clear. Maybe a little dilated, but Oikawa thinks that maybe his are too. The burst of adrenaline is no joke, when your long-time crush just starts kissing and dry-humping you in the middle of a crowded living room.

Still…

“I’m _serious_ here. Did you—did anyone…Your drink,”

He knows he’s not making much sense but he can’t fathom _why_. He heard all sorts of stories about shit happening at frat parties. He thought he watched over his and Iwaizumi’s cups well enough, but even then someone might’ve slipped Iwaizumi something while he wasn’t looking. It’s no secret that he has some aggressive suitors. Why he attracts all the persistent types, Oikawa will never know, but chasing out the worst of them certainly gives him enough grief on a normal day. 

To his surprise, Iwaizumi’s head falls back, mouth open in a barking laugh. The hand on his sternum closes into a loose fist and draws back to hit his shoulder.

“Idiot.” Iwaizumi chuckles, hand sliding flat back on Oikawa’s chest, over his stretched-out collar, calloused fingers on the sensitive jut of his clavicle, “So when were you gonna tell me?”

The ghost of his touch is distracting, way too much for Oikawa’s tequila-addled brain and all he can cough up in the moment is, “Eh?”

“I only noticed in senior year.” Iwaizumi explains, patient, distracted as the edge of his hand curls around the base of Oikawa’s throat “But a bird told me you liked me for a while—”

Oikawa feels his blood run cold and he grabs Iwaizumi’s wrist, push it against the door hard enough for the knob to jiggle weakly. Iwaizumi gasps a breath. Eyes wide. Knuckles white.

“Is _that_ why you’re doing this?”

Iwaizumi stares at him. He doesn’t answer.

Oikawa’s tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, slide it into his mouth to bite. Anchor himself on something that isn’t the enticing scent of Iwaizumi’s cologne, the warmth of him so close, how beautiful his eyes are in the pale blue glow of the hallway lights. “I never wanted you to—I never said because—”

Iwaizumi is looking up at him, eyebrows knotting curiously in that absolutely adorable midpoint of concern and impatience. He’d given him that look countless times before, but at some undefinable point down the line, any and every look Iwaizumi spared him started getting his heart jackrabbiting in his chest, started getting him warm to the tip of his fingers and toes and it only took a very short while for him to realize that was exactly what he was: irrevocably and hopelessly in love with his best friend.

“I never told you because I didn’t want you to…to think you were obligated to return my feelings…or something.”

“I’m not throwing you a fucking pity party.” Iwaizumi cuts off, and that indignant frown is back on his face. The very same one he pulls when he thinks Oikawa is being an idiot. “After all the people I turned down do you really think I’m the type to say yes just because I feel sorry for a person?”

Oikawa swallows with difficulty, “Well,”

He’d been afraid of it. He loathes to admit but he isn’t stupid enough to understate how important he is to Iwaizumi. How important they are to each other. He’d always been afraid that telling Iwaizumi would force him to reciprocate, just to spare Oikawa’s feelings, just to spare their relationship.

Iwaizumi’s gaze softens, realization coming with Oikawa’s prolonged silence. He leans in cautiously, a silent permission for a kiss, and Oikawa lets him. 

“Idiot.” Iwaizumi breathes against his lips and Oikawa can’t help but laugh about how giddy an age-old insult makes him. “I like you. I kissed you because I like you. I have since…I dunno. High school, maybe? I kissed you because I got tired of waiting. And I waited because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just…you crushing on me because you…had no choice or something.”

Oikawa’s heart stops, only to restart twice as fast. “No choice?”

“You know any other guy from our year who isn’t straight?” Iwaizumi snaps, tone harsh, but his eyes are set higher, just past Oikawa’s eyes and even then he quickly looks away, looks down. “I dunno, I mean…Like they said you’d meet all sorts of people in college. I was just afraid that maybe you were crushing on me because you didn’t really have other options…back in Seijou…and that once you met a better match here, you’d pursue them instead.”

Iwaizumi bites his lip here, head ducking like he’s ashamed of every word that just slipped out of him. He’s tense. On-edge. He’s always been like this after a moment of vulnerability. A volatile mix of bark and bite to cover up the fragility of his soul laid bare.

Oikawa can’t breathe past the thunder of his heartbeat against his lungs, his heart swelling with emotions he can’t really take in.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa starts, reaches up to cradle Iwaizumi’s face and tilt it up, because if he’s going to say this then he needs Iwaizumi to see that he’s being sincere. 

“I feel like, even if you were straight, I’d fall in love with you all the same.”

Iwaizumi’s face burns red. His cheeks grow hot under Oikawa’s palms and he almost wants to laugh at how cute he looks with his sweet blush and how he insistently ducks his head to hide how embarrassed Oikawa’s words make him. Oikawa blows out a laugh. Maybe relieved, a tad bit strangled, but mostly just tight and small with happiness so plentiful he can’t quite believe he’s lucky enough to feel this much.

“I didn’t fall in love with you just because you were _convenient_ or whatever.” Oikawa insists, working up the courage to move his hand from Iwaizumi’s wrist to lie flat over his palm, their fingers twining, his heart jumping at how naturally their fingers fold inward to meet the space between each other’s. “If I told you the reasons why, we’d be here all night.”

He watches Iwaizumi’s breath hitch, when their eyes finally meet, green to brown, lashes just barely brushing.

“Cute.” Iwaizumi mutters dryly, but there’s a quirk of a smile on his face, flirty in a way that Oikawa’s never quite seen before, even after all these years. “But I can honestly think of a better way to spend the night.”

Iwaizumi reaches for the knob by his hip, easily twisting it open and getting them both inside. They stumble in with their lips still sealed over each other’s, silent giggles passing between mouths as Oikawa hurries to flatten his hand against the door to shut it and crowd Iwaizumi against the surface, other hand winding around his waist to pull him close, keep him there—

But then an alarmed noise rips from Iwaizumi’s throat, the hand steady on his shoulder suddenly pushing him away Iwaizumi’s looking behind him, expression a mix of shock and mild horror and Oikawa follows a split second later, just in time for a moan to resonate past the muffled music being carried over from downstairs.

“Oikawa.” Ushijima greets, only the slightest tremor to his voice as Shirabu sinks down on his cock. “Tendou didn’t mention you’d be here.”

 

-

 

Oikawa’s pretty sure his heart is not built to withstand so many shocking revelations in just the span of thirty minutes.

He and Iwaizumi are frozen on the spot, both not entirely sure what to do and how to process the vision of Ushijima and his former setter having _sex_ —and Oikawa has to take a few seconds to calmly remind himself that the high-schooler is definitely above 17 and is totally in the clear but still you can’t blame him that baby face can fool anyone—with Shirabu barely even stopping, merely glancing at them like they’re two flies who just happened to wander into the room.

“Sorry,” Shirabu hisses, still rolling his hips like a pro and not sounding sorry at all, “we forgot to lock the door.”

Oikawa doesn’t know what comes over him, but maybe his brain has short-circuited to the point that all he heard was _lock_ and _door_ and whatever remained of his cognitive abilities registered it as a command. His thumb presses the button and it locks with a neat click. Iwaizumi’s probably looking at him like he’s possessed, but it’s not like he’s faring any better, considering he’s just standing there.

In any stressful situation, the first thing Oikawa’s taught himself to do is watch. It’s saved his and his team’s asses countless times before but now he wishes he can turn the instinct off. Not that Ushijima and Shirabu make an awful picture. Fuck no. It’s almost like art, the way Shirabu moves on top of Ushijima, how the glimmer of light from the window plays along the sweat on their bodies. Shirabu lifts up a little and does something that gets Ushijima’s groaning, hips kicking, eagerly chasing the tightness of his ass.

He’s snapped back to reality with Iwaizumi’s frantic hand on his wrist, tugging hard enough to hurt. His eyes are comically wide, darting to the direction of the door in a wordless _let’s get the fuck out of here why haven’t we gotten the fuck out of here, Oikawa I swear to god_ —

“If you’re hoping the other rooms are empty, you’re out of luck. This was the only one _we_ could find.”

The springs of the king-sized bed creak with the rise of Shirabu’s body. He’s as lithe as ever, muscles tight beneath skin. He’d never been Oikawa’s type but that doesn’t mean Oikawa can’t appreciate how stunning he’s always looked, how stunning he looks right now; his body loosening and contracting above Ushijima. Ushijima moves in response, wielding the same chemistry they always had as setter and spiker. He hasn’t seen them in a while, but it almost looks as if nothing had changed. As if they’d never even been separated.

“As if staying in this room’s any better.” Iwaizumi snaps, through there’s an edge of hysteria to his voice, pitching higher at the end when Shirabu’s and Ushiijma’s bodies meet with a solid, almost wet _smack_ that echoes throughout the room.

“You really wanna fuck on a bed fresh with someone’s bodily fluids when there’s enough space here for four of us?” Shirabu drawls, words slurring between breathy gasps and fuck this is probably the guiltiest erection Oikawa has ever popped in his life. He’d always known that Shirabu was a bit of a kinky one, but _damn_ —

Ushijima chokes on a laugh, hips moving lazily, pressing in deeper. “I believe he’s extending an invitation for you to join us.”

Oikawa thinks he may have let the silence linger a bit too long, if the sudden jab at his ribs is anything to go by.

“Are you actually fucking considering this?” Iwaizumi hisses, and Oikawa has honed his sense of self-preservation enough to know when to be honest and when to draw out his confessions as long as possible.

“Well, I’ve always known your vice-captain had such a mouth on him.” Shirabu says, and Iwaizumi bristles, rerouting his murderous glare over to him, much to Oikawa’s relief. “He ever use that for anything other than cussing you off?”

Iwaizumi’s face burns a rather different kind of red this time. He never really did deal well with impolite juniors, let alone one from Shiratorizawa.

Still. Might not be wise to leave the kid to Iwaizumi’s fury. Not _now_ , at least. “Iwa-chan—”

He’s cut off by a violent tug, a pull at his wrist where Iwaizumi’s hand suddenly is, but instead of heading towards the door, he’s being pushed against plush sheets, the springs bouncing around when Iwaizumi climbs up on him. It blacks out his brain for a moment, makes it hard to think knowing that there’s a weight on his lap and that it’s _Iwaizumi_.

“Iwa-chan—”

“Shut it.” Iwaizumi hisses, and Oikawa’s mouth snaps shut, pure instinct more than anything. “I think I’ve waited long enough. I’d like to see if that dick really is as big as your volleyball shorts make it look.”

 _Oh god_.

Shirabu hums curiously, not even bothering to hide how his eyes drag over to their side of the bed. Iwaizumi must have noticed it too, because his moves suddenly slow, become more conscious of themselves. It hits Oikawa that he’s never done this before, and the thought pools heat low in his belly.

Iwaizumi’s already halfway through getting out of his clothes. His chin catches at the collar and Oikawa reaches up to help hook it off, chuckling at the sight of Iwaizumi’s disgruntled face. He loves Iwaizumi for many things, but he’s just as human as anyone else, and he’s not even going to deny how much harder he fell after puberty had done its work on Iwaizumi’s body. Years of sports and careful attention had carved the finest muscles under his skin. The weight of him on his lap is familiar yet foreign at the same time. When was the last time Iwaizumi had let Oikawa so close? Close enough that Oikawa can press his face against his chest to listen for his heartbeat, no fabric separating their skins.

He wants to kiss him. He remembers that he _can_ now, so he does.

His lips are still sweet. Sugary with cola and heady with the last bit of alcohol in his system. He shivers when Oikawa’s tongue passes over his lower lip. It’s so easy to hold him close like this, their bodies pressed tight together, his hands smoothing over firm, naked skin. He can’t even remember how long he’s wanted him, and now that he has him he doesn’t think he can let him go.

Oikawa only backs up when Iwaizumi whines into his mouth. A wholly needy sound and it makes Oikawa want to give him anything. Anything at all he wants. Oikawa thinks the sentiment translates in his eyes well, because Iwaizumi blushes pink, ducks his head to avoid the intensity of his stare as he murmurs.

“Get that shirt off.”

“Thought you liked this shirt on me?”

Something flashes in Iwaizumi’s eyes. Relief. Irritation. A calm that seems oddly misplaced in this situation but it comforts Oikawa all the same.

“I like it better on the floor. _Off_.”

Iwaizumi’s fingers twist at the hem of his shirt, agitating the buttons with his impatience. Oikawa undresses quickly, but not quick enough for Iwaizumi. He has his mouth and hands on every inch of skin that each undone button exposes and Oikawa stumbles through the last two, eyes rolling back at the wet warmth of Iwaizumi’s tongue, the searing scrape of his nails on him.

When he finally gets it off, Iwaizumi straightens to toss it behind him, landing in the darkness with a silent rustle. Oikawa looks up at Iwaizumi. He’s staring right back. 

The bed creaks again, shifts under Oikawa and it snaps Iwaizumi out of his reverie. His hips start rocking in small, subconscious circles, and Oikawa is once again conflicted about whether or not he’s grateful for the disturbance. Iwaizumi shifts closer, grinds harder, moving like he’s trying to figure out what feels good and suddenly his pelvis moves down and rolls just right and it shoots a thrum of arousal through Oikawa’s entire body, a moan cracking in his throat.

Iwaizumi pauses, breath catching, looking at Oikawa, _did I do that_ shining alongside the awe and lust sparking in his eyes. He does it again, and Oikawa lets the moan loose this time, loving how it sounds beside Iwaizumi’s quieter groan.

Iwaizumi’s hips move more confidently now, and Oikawa’s hand slinks down to give his ass an appreciative squeeze, the other sliding down to a meaty thigh and doing the same. His hypersensitive touch kneads over the denim, the texture like static beneath his hand. Iwaizumi’s next breaths come faster. He can feel Iwaizumi twitching against his own erection, and as pathetic as it sounds, Oikawa knows if Iwaizumi keeps doing this then they both won’t last long. That won’t do.

With his hands secure on Iwaizumi’s thighs, he bucks up a little, subtly testing his weight, their balance, trying not to get too distracted by the gasp that tears out of Iwaizumi’s lips when he pushes their bodies tighter together in preparation for the shift. His body is mostly pliant in his hold. Good.

“Huh,” Shirabu pants, eyes bright with a predatory kind of interest as Oikawa twists and shoves Iwaizumi onto the bed, “not exactly how I imagined this particular configuration.”

Oikawa almost doesn’t hear the quip, to busy admiring Iwaizumi’s shocked, blushing face, committing to memory the shriek that was ripped out of him with the sudden movement. His chest rises and falls with his heaving breaths, and Oikawa can’t help but kiss him right above the heart, lips feeling the fluttering pulses of his heartbeat.

“For you to still be spitting big words like that, Ushiwaka must not be fucking you properly.” Oikawa says, between mouthing at Iwaizumi’s nipples, coaxing his body to relax against him again. He spares the younger a glance, in between sucking marks into Iwaizumi’s torso, and takes all the satisfaction he can get from how severely Shirabu’s face sours.

There’d been a spark of a moment where it almost seemed like Shirabu was gearing up for a cutting remark. Something scathing and foul as what he’s so known for. But whatever words meant to come out of Shirabu’s mouth devolves into a shocked little cry when he’s suddenly flipped over, his back hitting the cushy bed with a soft puff of air.

Oikawa almost jumps at the movement, instinctively pulls Iwaizumi against him when Ushijima turns to him with a glare that can quite possibly melt steel. He only spares a second to brace Shirabu’s hips, lift it up to an angle that gets him whimpering, then his hips draw back only to slam back in with a solid thrust, skin slapping soundly together once he lands home.

As much as he thinks Ushijima is a fucking show-off, there’s something very appealing about the visual of Ushijima pinning Shirabu down and dicking him down with such ferocity. Maybe it’s the novelty of seeing Ushijima let loose on anything other than a volleyball, or hearing Shirabu setting free the thorned vocabulary he’s so infamous for. They fuck like animals, Shirabu practically sliding up the mattress with the force of Ushijima’s hips slamming against his. Shirabu screaming and cursing in response, grabbing onto Ushijima to keep him anchored, leaving red welts in his fingers’ wake whenever his grip wavers. It’s far from elegant but it looks good. Probably feels good too, if Shirabu’s numerous calls for god are to be trusted.

The bed creaks, a softer, tamer sound compared to the chaos at his right, and he looks down to see Iwaizumi lifting himself up on his elbows, eyes dragging up and down the expanse of his body. One hand comes up to touch. First, cradling the crest of his collarbones between his thumb and index finger. Then dragging down to his sternum, the hollow of his chest, pausing briefly at his heart. Iwaizumi smiles, soft and sweet as he flattens his palm down to meet his overeager heart and Oikawa almost laughs at how ridiculously in love he is. How ridiculously in love they both were all this time and now they’re consummating it at a frat party, on a bed also occupied by their high school enemies.

(Well, his life always did have a flair for the dramatic.)

Oikawa’s breath slows, softens, when Iwaizumi finally finds the waistband of his jeans. He thumbs the button a second too long, and Oikawa’s fingers curl loose around Iwaizumi’s wrist. His touch eases the small tremors that work their way down to Iwaizumi’s fingertips, hastens the motion of his zipper being undone. Oikawa grunts as Iwaizumi pushes his boxers aside, pulls his cock out, hand rough and fumbling as he drags back the skin. He bites his lip, eyes rolling upwards to meet Oikawa’s. 

“You lucky bastard.” Shirabu whispers, sounding a little strangled, a little breathless, just before another wet thrust cuts him off into a rather pornographic scream. Oikawa hopes Iwaizumi doesn’t notice how it makes his cock twitch.

Oikawa has always been a bit of an exhibitionist. He knows he looks good and loves it all the more when other people affirm that. No big surprise that Shirabu is too. He wonders, idly, just how much of an influence he is on Ushijima, if he can get him wrapped around his finger like this, tugging him along for his little games on a short leash.

Then again, maybe he doesn’t actually know Ushijima as well as the thought he did. It’s always the quiet ones.

“God, you have no idea.” Iwaizumi mutters in response, eyes unwavering as his hand begins to work. A slow squeeze that rips a stuttered moan from Oikawa.

“Met your expectations, then?” he quips, if only to try to fool himself into thinking he has the situation under control.

“God, you have no idea.” Iwaizumi repeats, breathier this time, voice low, almost like he’s praying. The mental comparison makes Oikawa blush hard, especially since Iwaizumi still has a hand on his cock, thumbing the underside.

They stay like that for a second, Iwaizumi’s touches colored with uncertainty, a little bit of exploratory fascination. The sounds of Ushijima and Shirabu fucking beside them is a vague background noise to Oikawa now. Iwaizumi leans in close, the plush wetness of his lips against the line of his neck, grinning against the thick vein when Oikawa’s hands move to glide along his waist, feeling for the jackrabbiting pulse that betrays his nervousness.

“Need help there?” Shirabu snaps, and the moment shatters like glass against the wall. “You’re moving like you’ve never touched a dick before.”

Oikawa’s never really prided himself on his self-control, but he’s particularly proud of the fact that he just barely manages to reel in the urge to throttle Shirabu. Or heave Iwaizumi over his shoulder and walk out to find a room to themselves. Soiled beds be damned. Kid better be grateful he’s hot.

Before he can vocalize the sentiment though, a sharp _crack_ resounds in the room, and Oikawa jerks his head in time to see Ushijima land an admonishing slap to Shirabu’s thigh. It stings an angry red against his already blushed skin, but the way he gasps has Oikawa thinking that it’s not exactly a punishment.

Ushijima’s hand slides slowly, thumb stroking over the edges of the mark already blossoming against peach skin.

“Play nice.” he murmurs, barely soft enough to be heard but the authoritative ring of his tone is unmistakable.

Iwaizumi snorts, gaze darting between them, but Oikawa can see how his eyes linger on the mark. “Always knew you were a masochist.”

“Oh? What gave it away?” Shirabu asks, though there’s an absent glaze in his stare. He doesn’t even look at them.

“The fact that you had a crush on Ushijima.”

Shirabu rolls his eyes, palms flat as they drag up Ushijima’s torso, nails catching at the hardened peaks of his nipples. Oikawa thinks he wouldn’t have heard it if he weren’t settled so close, and it surprises him all the same when the low rumbling reaches his ears. Something that sounded a lot like _purring_.

“That comeback’s not really valid now, is it?” Shirabu’s stare is still hungry when Oikawa peels back Iwaizumi’s jeans, a low hum slipping from his lips at the sight of the tattoo. Ushijima grunts in surprise too, and Oikawa feels a surge of pride, pointedly dragging an open palm over the length of Iwaizumi’s leg, faintly tracing the outline of the dragon as he goes. Iwaizumi shivers, gooseflesh trailing in Oikawa’s wake. He’d become irrevocably sensitive there ever since the tattoo, a fact that Oikawa mercilessly exploited before, and plans to exploit even more now.

He slips off his jeans, taking his boxers with them, but not before slipping out two packets from his back pocket. Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow when they little squares land on the bed, utterly unimpressed. 

“Feeling lucky?”

“Prepared, more like.” Oikawa responds dryly, smacking Iwaizumi’s leg with the back of his hand. “How do you wanna do this?”

It’s almost funny how suddenly he goes from indignant to shy, how he blushes even more when Oikawa has the lube and condom in his hand. Oikawa waits patiently. Words have never been Iwaizumi’s strong suit.

A sound escapes him. Too soft to be heard, especially now that Ushijima and Shirabu are moving again, springs squeaking underneath them. Oikawa hums kindly, leaning close until their foreheads touch.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Oikawa was expecting it, braced himself for the surge of emotions that he knew would come with the words, but still he finds himself choking. There’s a bit of bite to how Iwaizumi says it, the tone of a command that betrays the soft hesitation in his body. It’s subtle, but Oikawa has known him for years, and he knows that Iwaizumi is afraid, even when Iwaizumi refuses to admit it to himself.

“Are you sure? It might,” he licks his lips, words floating on his tongue, “It might hurt a bit. You sure you don’t wanna try the other way?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker, breath pausing in his lungs, too obvious with how close they are. Oikawa’s lids lower slightly, looking at Iwaizumi’s lips instead of directly at his eyes because he knows that pressures him, makes him nervous. So he kisses him softly, gently, the same way Iwaizumi kissed him on that crowded sofa downstairs, and groans when Iwaizumi’s body melts into his embrace.

It’s been so long, Oikawa thinks. So long since he last cradled Iwaizumi like this. He can feel the pulse of blood beneath his skin, the thunder of his heart echoing in the chamber of his ribs, the heat and desire rippling from him like a tangible, staggering force. Iwaizumi crowds him in so far that Oikawa’s neck tilts so far back into the pillow until there’s no more give.

“I’m sure.” Iwaizumi breathes, on his lips, in his mouth, “God, yes, I’m so fucking sure.”

“Okay.” Oikawa says, because really, what else is there? “Anything you want, love. Anything.”

Even with the haze of disbelief and unadulterated excitement, he doesn’t miss how Iwaizumi shivers at the nickname. Carefully, he rips one packet open, spills the contents onto his fingers. Beside them, Ushijima has slowed to a steady rhythm, fucking Shirabu with these long, smooth strokes that leave him whimpering into his mouth, boneless everytime he sinks in balls-deep. He watches them in the time it takes to sufficiently warm up the lube, and when he’s satisfied, he sinks down, mirroring Ushijima and Shirabu’s position beside them, and slides his hand down to the apex of Iwaizumi’s legs.

His first tentative touch to Iwaizumi’s hole tears a shuddering gasp out of him. Oikawa circles the rim a few times, kisses Iwaizumi once before pushing in. His trapped cock between them twitches, spurts a little when Oikawa pushes in a little further, even more until he’s fully sheathed inside.

He’s tight. He’s so tight and warm for a moment Oikawa wonders if it’s even a good idea to pursue this, but Iwaizumi closes his eyes, takes a breath and suddenly his body is relaxing for him, tense muscles falling lax like he’s welcoming Oikawa instead of fighting him like his instincts are telling him to.

Iwaizumi’s stuttered breaths evolve into a needy whine, hand spasming in Oikawa’s hair when he realizes he’s stopped moving. Oikawa tides him over by crooking his finger, pulling out then sliding back in, but Iwaizumi only continues to fuss. “More.” he whines. “Gimme another.”

“You have to wait it out a bit, Iwa-chan, I—” Oikawa croons, fucking him very carefully with one finger, trying to ignore how he can feel him so acutely like this, can feel him clenching tight in anticipation, in want.

“I can take it,” Iwaizumi insists, panting. “I, I've done it before, I—”

“With who?” Oikawa asks, trying to keep his tone level but it comes out too sharp. To sudden. “Who?”

Iwaizumi opens his eyes. His chin trembles when he opens his mouth. He’s even more red-cheeked now and Oikawa almost worries but then his voice slips out, coagulates into a single word.

“M-myself.” 

The churning unpleasantness fades only to be replaced with something. Something that tickles the pads of his fingers and coils a smoldering heat low in his belly.

He hums, almost conversational as he squirts a little more lube onto the exposed cleft of Iwaizumi’s ass, getting his entrance and his fingers nice and wet before easing in a second. There’s only the barest resistance this time, his walls giving easily to the pressure, soft and slick. God, he’d feel so good around his cock. So perfect.

“How did it feel? Fucking yourself on your fingers.”

“Not enough,” he murmurs, and gasps when Oikawa’s tongue darts out to lick the side of his face, the sharp point of his tongue traveling like the delicate edge of a blade. “It felt good but it wasn’t enough.” he pants, whimpering but opening his mouth obediently when Oikawa licks along the seam of his lips. “Not like this.”

Oikawa hums low, sucks on a bruised bottom lip before popping off, twisting his fingers subtly to loosen him up more, presses up where he knows Iwaizumi is most sensitive and swallows down the resulting gasp. “You like my fingers in you, Iwa-chan? Tell me.”

“They’re longer. Fucking me so deep.” Oikawa chuckles when his words fade into a gasp, grip spasming in the sheets when Oikawa teases a third finger, pushes it in alongside the two. “Fuck how do you know exactly where to touch it’s not f- _fair_.”

Oikawa rubs over his prostate again, because it’s so hard to resist when he’s like this. Iwaizumi squirms, body trying to crawl away from the feeling but Oikawa locks him in, cages him in with an elbow planted above his shoulder, hand trailing out to tangle in the spiky locks fanned over the pillow. His back is arching up against the bed, a desperate little chorus of _ah, ah, ah_ pitching higher with every thrust of Oikawa’s fingers.

He slides in a third finger with surprising ease. Iwaizumi’s voice cracks on a wail, hips kicking, rutting his cock on Oikawa’s abdomen.

“You ok, love?” Oikawa coos, pushing his fingers in, half-hoping he was down there to watch Iwaizumi’s ass stretch around his digits, but this is a sight to be devoured too: the play of reactions on Iwaizumi’s face as Oikawa slowly pulls him apart. “That feels good baby? Right there?” 

He strokes steadily over his prostate, then wiggles his entire hand at the wrist. Iwaizumi’s eyes snap open, cursing and panting as his body rocks harder, squeezes tighter. His hands fly up, one on Oikawa’s elbow, the other on the hand twisted in his hair, begging to be held, and Oikawa indulges him, twines their fingers and lets him hold on until his knuckles are white.

Oikawa waits until his breaths quicken, waits until his little mewls sound just right, waits for the tell-tale tightening around his fingers and the bruising dig of Iwaizumi’s fingertips before ripping out his fingers like he’d just burned himself. Iwaizumi chokes on a gasp, body spasming at the sudden change, and when he finally realizes what happened, he turns a venomous glare up at him, teeth bared.

“What the fuck,” he growls, though the effect is dampened by the glaze of tears in his eyes. “What the _fuck_ you _asshole_ —”

Oikawa thumbs around his rim, puffy and wet, fluttering delicately at his touch, clenching sporadically, hungry for his denied orgasm. It’s cruel, but it makes his blood run hot, the way Iwaizumi chokes up, how he sounds like he’s about ready to cry from how desperate he is.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi whimpers, and Oikawa stops in his tracks, cursing his mistake. He’s not the only devious one in this relationship. Iwaizumi knows his weaknesses almost as well as Oikawa knows his, and Iwaizumi’s not above using it to his advantage. “Tooru,” he beseeches, eyes hooded and body curving invitingly, enticingly. “You promised, Tooru.”

He swallows with difficulty, words escaping him in droves. 

“Do you want to ride me? Might be…might be easier.”

Iwaizumi nods. Though Oikawa is pretty sure he’s just nodding because he thinks it’s what’s going to get Oikawa’s cock in him faster. Oikawa supports Iwaizumi’s hips as he straddles him, cock swollen red and angry, leaking a mess between his legs.

He’s glad he still has enough of a grip on himself to remember the condom, hastily tearing it open and rolling it on while Iwaizumi crawls above him, trying to align them properly. Oikawa’s hands slide up his thighs, thumbs pressing into the sharp jut of his hipbones in a gentle massage.

Iwaizumi shuffles back and lifts himself, thighs quivering as he holds Oikawa’s cock by the base and lines it up against his hole—so loose the head catches on the gaping rim and slips right in. 

Oikawa is a fool to think this won’t affect him as much. He’d been with partners before, had already experienced sex from both ends. He didn’t think it would be particularly mindblowing or overwhelming but the second he breaches Iwaizumi, he has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip, fast and haggard just so he won’t blow his load right then and there.

Iwaizumi’s entrance still gapes from how well he’d been fingerfucked earlier, but his insides are still tight. There’s only meager inches of him inside Iwaizumi and yet he already feels so good, so warm around the head even through the condom. He sinks down a bit more, takes more of Oikawa inside before he stops himself, hands braced on Oikawa’s chest, breathing hard, eyes unfocused.

He’s seen this expression on Iwaizumi before, when he’s trying so hard not to mess up, when he’s angry with himself for not doing more, when he wants to _prove_ something.

“Fuck,” he breathes, breath hitching, body squeezing around what bit of Oikawa he already has inside him and Oikawa grunts in response, reaching to fist the sheets instead because he thinks he might just draw blood if he held onto Iwaizumi.

“Fuck, you’re big.” Iwaizumi finishes, voice melting to a whimper as he seats himself further down. Oikawa clenches his jaw but not even the throb of it can distract him from the alluring heat of being inside Iwaizumi, the dizzying reality that what he’s always wanted is right here.

He breathes through gritted teeth, almost hissing when Iwaizumi experimentally tightens around him, like he’s trying to get used to the feeling. Oikawa knows how different it can feel, especially in that moment where pain shifts to pleasure. He’s careful to watch Iwaizumi’s face, attentive and concerned even as something under his skin itches for him to just _take_. To grab those hips and start thrusting. To mark up that beautiful plane of skin and fuck him until he’s crying and begging for him to come inside—

The ghost of a touch snaps him out of his thoughts. A hand is reaching out to stroke the underside of Iwaizumi’s cock, rough knuckles tickling over Oikawa’s belly as it holds Iwaizumi loosely.

“Breathe.” Ushijima instructs, and Oikawa startles at the warmth in his voice. It seems to work. Iwaizumi inhales deep with every upstroke, interrupted by thready little gasps whenever Ushijima’s thumb comes up to tease his slit. The erratic tightening around Oikawa slows to a steady pulse, a more relaxed rhythm, punctuated by a delicious tightening every now and then.

He sort of knew this would happen, had expected possessiveness to curl tight in his belly, but instead he watches the head of Iwaizumi’s cock disappear in the circle of Ushijima’s fist, watches him buck up and gasp from the pleasure given by someone that isn’t Oikawa.

“That’s so hot.” Oikawa says instead, voice slurred in heated amazement, and his blood nearly freezes in his veins when Iwaizumi’s eye snaps open to glare down at him.

He’s bracing himself for a hit, a scathing word, but instead what he gets is Iwaizumi’s head being tilted to the side with a finger to his jaw, closing his eyes and sinking farther into Shirabu’s space, his mouth and lips tangle with Shirabu’s, moaning and gasping lewd and loud like he’s putting on a show.

And _fuck_ what a show indeed.

Shirabu tangles a hand into Iwaizumi’s hair, clawing and pulling. Every flash of teeth coincides with a moan from Iwaizumi, a very telling tightening around Oikawa’s cock. He kisses like he’s fighting and well, maybe that explains the state of Ushijima’s lips, how his neck looks like it’s been mauled by a hungry lion.

They part with excruciating slowness, a gossamer bridge of spit connecting their lips as they breathe. Iwaizumi’s eyes are drawn to the cherry redness of Shirabu’s lips, head angled like it’s only Shirabu’s grip on his hair that’s keeping him from diving in for another.

Oikawa chuckles softly, files away Iwaizumi’s penchant for kissing for future use, and slowly begins to move, keeping their hips tights together as he flips them over, nudging his hips forward and smirking at the sudden inhale Iwaizumi takes, eyes rolling shut when Oikawa pulls back a bare inch and pushes in again.

"Fucking get _on_ with it." Iwaizumi growls, but even then Oikawa fucks him slowly. Oikawa has never prided himself for his patience, but his defiance is worth watching Iwaizumi fall apart like this, trying to move his hips back on Oikawa’s cock to get what he wants.

Iwaizumi chokes on a cry when Oikawa slips out of him, the length of his cock slapping over his cleft, sliding back and forth a few times. With a frustrated groan Iwaizumi jerks his head to the side, buries half his face in the pillow as his hips writhe in Oikawa’s grip, trying to force him back in, sounds muffled from where his teeth have clenched around the corner of the pillow.

Oikawa laughs breathlessly and teases some more, enjoying himself. It’s been a while since he’s fucked someone so responsive. Iwaizumi is a natural, every movement and sound so deliciously erotic it makes Oikawa’s head spin.

His abs flex beautifully when Oikawa finally thrusts back in, pushing until their pelvises are flush, hips moving in a tight circle, making sure Iwaizumi feels all of him. Iwaizumi’s breath catches with every shift, bliss taking over his flushed face. Iwaizumi tightens up so god around him, like he’s trying to make sure Oikawa doesn’t pull another fast one, determined to milk an orgasm from him this time.

He smooths his hands all up Iwaizumi’s body, loving how small he looks when he has both hands on him. He’s all hard abs and bulging biceps on a daily basis but he’s so different right here. Right now. So soft under Oikawa’s touch, breathy little sounds passing from his lips with every rock of Oikawa’s hips, pliant and docile whenever Oikawa repositions him like he trusts him to take care of him, like he trusts him to make him feel good.

So he does. Oikawa tightens his hand beneath Iwaizumi’s thigh, fingers digging in just below his ass, filling his hands so nicely. “So good for me, love. So sweet.” He hisses, sinks forward until he has his face buried in the crook of his shoulder. “Gonna make you come. Gonna fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”

Iwaizumi mewls, scratches leaving tender lines all across Oikawa’s shoulders. “Th-that’s good, it—oh, fuck, I—” He swallows, and his voice comes out heady and pinched between trembling breaths. “F-fuck…I’m gonna cum, d-don’t stop.”

His thighs close around his waist so hard Oikawa almost can’t breathe, but then his back arches sharply and a helpless moan falls from his lips and his body tightens around Oikawa as he comes all over his torso, thick and pearlescent on his bronzed, sweat-slick skin.

He tastes blood in his mouth with how hard he’s biting down. Beside them, Ushijima is still fucking into Shirabu, mostly a whimpering, sobbing mess as Ushijima’s cock continues to pound into him. There’s already the tell-tale splatter of cum on Shirabu’s belly. It’s too much. It has to be. But Shirabu’s still clutching the sheets, taking it like a champ, whining _harder_ and _more_ like he can gun for a second orgasm in the time it takes for Ushijima to reach his first.

And he does, body jacking and convulsing just mere seconds before Ushijima lets out a low grunt, hips snapping forward all out of rhythm, only to go eerily still. Breaths short. Hands gripping Shirabu’s hips like they’re lifelines.

That last victory all it takes for Oikawa to come, body jacking up in godsent release as he spills into the condom. Iwaizumi inhales sharply, through his teeth, and there’s a frustrated wrinkle between his brows, an odd disappointment in his eyes when he opens them.

“Next time,” he breathes, so soft Oikawa almost misses it. “Next time don’t use one.”

Oikawa thinks he spurts one last time simply because of those words. He nods dumbly, only half-lucid, gently pulling out before collapsing in a heap beside Iwaizumi.

He loses a large chunk of time (mind-blowing orgasms tend to do that to a person) but when he comes to, it’s with Ushijima’s knee disrupting the bed’s balance, climbing on the bed with damp towels in his hands. Shirabu greets him with a kiss, soft and loving and such a stark difference from the animalistic intensity that they shared earlier. To his surprise, Shirabu takes two cloths from Ushijima, and shuffles over to squeeze between him and Iwaizumi, ignoring his indignant protests.

He takes in a sharp breath when Shirabu passes the cloth over his softened cock, peeling back the foreskin to wipe down the head, teasing small circles over the tip with the fabric. Oikawa grits his teeth to keep from making a sound.

“Why are you two even here?”

“Aren’t your pledges allowed a plus one every party?” 

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “What happened to that pretty one he always used to bring along?”

Shirabu shrugs carelessly. “Family trip. Tendou-san asked Ushijima-san instead.”

“And _you_?”

Shirabu smirks down at him. Doesn’t answer. Oikawa’s other eyebrow comes up to join its brother, and he turns his incredulous gaze over to Ushijima, who’s wiping down Iwaizumi’s torso.

“Oh? So even upstanding Ushiwaka-kun breaks rules every now and then.”

Shirabu scoffs above him. “You’d be surprised.” 

He looks back at Shirabu again, but he’s throwing Ushijima a coy look. One he doesn’t return but even then Oikawa can see years’ worth of secrets passing between their gazes. He burns with curiosity. Did they ever fuck in the changing rooms? Late in the evening after everyone had showered and packed up? Did they ever fuck in a shower cubicle, all while their teammates where still there, sounds muffled by teeth clamped around skin, the roar of water rushing past, splattering against tile?

His thoughts are interrupted when Shirabu lifts up and off of him to toss the stained rags to some inconsequential corner of the room, body bowed into the meager lights from the lone window, skin supple and dipped in the moon’s glow.

Maybe his Shiratorizawa uniform had always colored Oikawa’s opinion of him, but how he is now, naked and lounging over the bedding with his legs kicking in the air, he looks good. He filled out a little bit. Not to completely discard his willowy form but at least there are more noticeable contours of his muscles, no shade of bone against his skin, though the features of his face remain as sharp as ever.

He appreciatively slides his gaze up the cutting edge of a jawline only to find doe eyes already blinking at him, lips softly curled into a roguish smirk.

“You can touch.” Shirabu invites, lids lowering to form that devious expression that set Oikawa’s blood boiling so many times before, form the other side of a volleyball net. He scoffs.

“Your boyfriend’s _right there_.”

“He doesn’t decide who gets to put their hands on _my_ body.”

He says it sharply, but without any malice, like it’s a simple fact that Oikawa should know by now. Oikawa glances at Ushijima, brief enough to see his relaxed posture, just lounging on the bed, watching the proceedings with the same bland interest he reserves for anything other than volleyball. God, how he landed a man as fiery as Shirabu, he’ll probably never know.

Still, he turns to look at Iwaizumi. His eyes widen a little in surprise when he realizes Oikawa is waiting.

“It’s _your_ body.” Iwaizumi mutters, though there’s something about how his gaze flickers that tells Oikawa he’s not quite as ok as his words make him seem.

“I know.” Oikawa says, and his tone has Iwaizumi looking up at him. “But you’re my boyfriend now. It’s important for me to know that you’re ok with this.”

There’s something unreadable in Iwaizumi’s gaze, and it makes Oikawa nervous, but his cheeks are an endearing pink, clear even in the meager light. It’s so subtle he might have missed it if he wasn’t looking, but Iwaizumi smiles, and gives a brief nod.

Under Iwaizumi’s careful watch, he curls a hand over a slim hip. He’s soft. Smooth. The texture and silhouette of his body nothing like Iwaizumi’s. His power has never been physical, but that never made him helpless. Shirabu fights his battles mostly with his sharp eyes and magnificent mind. He can practically hear the gears whirring in his skull as he twists to greet him, stomach muscles bunching when he sits up, trails spiderleg fingers up Oikawa’s chest, his neck.

“I always thought you’d be good in bed. Always nice to be proven right.”

He sounds breathless. He curves up towards Oikawa in a way that highlights his body’s best features, the flex of his fine muscles. He’s beautiful. Oikawa will never deny that fact. Shirabu sidles close, close enough that the tufts of hair over their foreheads brush against each other. He knows Iwaizumi and Ushijima are watching. He doesn’t know what it is they want to see.

“You think about me a lot?” Oikawa whispers, the skin of his own lips crackling with the illusion of contact. 

He’s angled heavily to the right, his leg supporting his whole body so that he isn’t sitting on his ass. Unsurprising. With a cock of Ushijima’s caliber it’s a wonder Shirabu can even move. 

In a flash of movement, Oikawa takes greedy handfuls of his ass, fingertips rubbing the sensitive pucker of his hole where he’d just been so thoroughly fucked. Shirabu gasps, a mere hitch of a breath and falls into Oikawa’s arms, hands gripping tight.

“Iwa-chan’s never been fond of sharing, you know.” He whispers, right into the sweet curve of his ears, raising his eyebrows in interest when he notices they’re pierced. A tiny pinprick of a hole at the lobe. “He might not like the idea. Why don’t you ask permission too.”

He says this, and yet Iwaizumi isn’t even batting an eyelash. Not even when Oikawa shoves two fingers inside, sliding in to the knuckle without a hitch.

His insides are hot and slick, soft and loose, but it’s a whole other thrill, fucking someone after someone else just had their turn with them; fucking someone already wet and sloppy and _used_. 

Shirabu’s hips buck in response to his entrance, but Oikawa chases him until his fingers are buried to the hilt, until Shirabu’s breath steadies and he’s moving, slowly at first, acclimating to the sensation of being filled again.

“You wanna try me?” he asks, and Shirabu groans, head dropping forward when he crooks his fingers just so. “It’s not the same you know. Imagining it. The real thing is always, _always_ so much more than what you could possibly come up with.”

Oikawa’s eyes pointedly slide over to Iwaizumi, watching his breath go heavy when he notices Oikawa watching. Iwaizumi isn’t small. Not by a long shot. But he’s practically swamped by the sheer mass of Ushijima bent above him. Ushijima has his mouth on the thick vein in his neck, has a thumb flicking back and forth on the hardened point of a nipple. Iwaizumi’s legs are open for him, kept apart by the girth of his hips. Ushijima’s body rolls with the consistency and precision of a machine, and Oikawa can’t really see from this angle but arousal coils tight in his gut at the mental image of their cocks sliding together, both still slick with cum, leftover lube, still sensitive but slowly filling out under the gentle stimulation.

He hums softly when they kiss, lids dropping low when Ushijima pulls back a little with Iwaizumi’s tongue still in his mouth, sucking softly until he pops off with a wholly lewd slurp. His spent cock twitches appreciatively, and all the while Shirabu shamelessly rides his fingers, spreading his legs as far as they can go and dropping heavier on his lap. In a moment of mischief, he pulls his fingers apart, prying the sensitive walls open and encouraging the spill of lube and Ushijima’s cum down his wrists, onto the sheets where another wet spot blooms. 

“You love being filled? A slut for big cocks, aren’t you, Shirabu?” Shirabu whines, chin bumping on Oikawa’s shoulder as he nods. Desperate little thing. “Then you’re gonna fucking love me.”

He hisses those last two words, punctuating it with a sharp bite to Shirabu’s jaw. Shirabu’s breath stutters, rutting his ass back as he moans. Oikawa clicks his tongue, roughly pulls out his fingers to draw the hand back and land a sound slap right on his fluttering hole.

“Shit god fuck,” he hisses, body buckling more from surprise rather than pain. “You’re such an _asshole_.”

“I don’t hear you asking.”

Shirabu snarls, the whisper of his teeth against Oikawa’s skin a barely-veiled threat. “Stop lying to yourself Oikawa-san, we both know you want to try me just as much.”

The silky swipe of a tongue passes over the prominent bones on his shoulder, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his touch, the scrape of nails travelling up his back. “You want someone you can rough up. You want to be mean.”

Oikawa quirks a brow. “You’re the same though.”

Shirabu huffs, careless and smug. “I’m versatile.” 

Shirabu’s lips are wet, plush when they sweep over the slope of his jaw, his ear, his mouth warm when he sucks the lobe in and bites down. 

“You like it when they beg, don’t you? When you can make them scream?” The hot drag of his tongue is heady, swirling his thoughts into dangerous territory. “You don’t have to be careful with me. I know how this works, I’ve done it before.”

It scares him. It has always scared him. Sometimes he still has nightmares about it: blood vessels bursting beneath the force of his hand, bone breaking, screams and pleas and the dizzying rush of excitement that comes when their voices crack with every sob. For all the people he slept with, he’d never once tried it out. Never even told anyone. But here Shirabu is kneeling in front of him with eyes that look like they’ve seen every single one of his dreams and liked what he saw.

“You be careful what you wish for.”

“Toshi once spanked me so hard I cried.” Shirabu whispers, so softly like it’s a sordid confession. His eyes glint, bright and manic with the memory, and Oikawa finds himself morbidly curious. “He spanked me one more time and I came without even touching my cock. You think I cry easily Oikawa-san? You think _you_ can make me?”

“You won’t even last two hits.”

Both their gazes snap to Iwaizumi, and Oikawa smirks when he realizes why Iwaizumi sounded so breathless. He’s nestled on Ushijima’s lap, back to his chest, flattened there by the large hand heavy on his torso, fingers flicking back and forth over a nipple. The other rests between his legs, deceptively lax, but with how sensitive Iwaizumi is right now that hand is probably driving him crazy. Oikawa can see the tremors that take his legs, the periodic little nudges of his hips, like they’re trying to grind on something without making his desperation known. It gets him wondering how long he can possibly last, kept on the edge of any proper stimulation. Would he beg? Would he clench his pride in his jaws until the bitter end?

God, there’s so many things Oikawa wants to do to Iwaizumi. Maybe they should invest in an apartment with thicker walls.

Shirabu glares darkly, already gearing himself up for the challenge and Oikawa almost wants to laugh when he grabs for his wrists and leads his hands to the milky expanse of his thighs, daring him to do his worst. Oikawa obliges. Slides a hand up his skin, gently, reverently, if only to make up for how badly he’ll ruin him in just a few seconds.

“Try to keep it in.” he whispers, hands flexing over the generous swell of his ass. “I’m pretty sure not even that racket downstairs will be able to cover up your screaming.”


End file.
